Games That Brothers Play
by The Death of Beauty
Summary: Just a little one shot, about Sherlock getting back at Mycroft for lying to him. Inspired by 'The Heffalump Factor' by KayMoon24. R&R, especially the second R-Review!


The games that brothers play

A/n: this fic was inspired by the story: 'the heffalump factor' by KayMoon24. I hope you enjoy, and please review.

"Mycroft!" A shrill voice rang out, drawing out the name obnoxiously. "Mycroft! Where are you?" Mycroft gritted his teeth as his little brother, Sherlock, kept whining in a high voice at ten o clock at night.  
"Mycroft! Mycroft! Mycroft!" Sherlock kept repeating the name in an obnoxious way.  
"What?" Mycroft snapped in a cold, harsh tone, the unrelenting annoyance finally getting to him.  
"Oh, there you are!" Sherlock said, walking through the door and peering at his brother through his dark, curly hair.  
"You're astounding observational abilities never cease to astound me," Mycroft quipped. Sherlock merely continued staring at him with cold, calculating ice blue eyes.  
"Read to me!" Sherlock demanded, breaking the silence that had fallen on the brothers during their staring match.  
"w-w-w-what? Why?" Mycroft's usually flawless mask fell as he slipped into shock at him brothers unorthodox request.  
"Because. Mummy reads to me."  
"Fine," Mycroft sighed, "what would you like me to read? Peter Pan? Cinderella?"  
"No!" Sherlock snorted.  
"then what then?" Mycroft asked, exasperated.  
"Mummy makes up a story!" Sherlock cried.  
"Fine, Sherlock, fine. Go to bed I'll be there in a minute." Mycroft said, smirking inwardly as a plan formed in his head.  
xXx  
"Hello, Mycroft!" Sherlock called as said boy made his way through the door.  
"hello, Sherlock. Are you ready for your story," Mycroft paused as Sherlock nodded energetically, dark curls bouncing along with his head, "okay then. This is a story about Bian the Mysterious. Now, Bian was the leader of a tribe of Auel's."  
"what's an Auel?" Sherlock interjected.  
"it's a species, they look human but have an eerie glow about them, and they also sprout wings whenever they so desire. They are a beautiful race, in a haunted way, and they feed on death, destruction, pain and chaos."  
"really?"  
"Really. But, Sherlock, let me tell you a secret. Many people believe that they are only stuff of legend, but there is a secret, only known to a few. They are real."  
Sherlock's eyes grew wide and Mycroft congratulated himself mentally and continued his story.  
xXx  
Mycroft was going to pay! Mycroft wad going to pay for lying to him! There was no such thing as an Auel. He'd looked them up on the Internet, in mythology books from the Holmes' family library and the public library. There was not even a mention of them. They weren't even mythology, never mind real. The Auel's were a race that only existed on Mycroft's own mind. Sherlock smirked evilly -a habit he'd picked up from his brother- and enlisted the help of his only friend. The artistic Zenia.  
xXx  
Sherlock chuckled darkly. Everything was set. In his stories Mycroft had given a thorough enough description that he could get Zenia to recreate one with the help of Miss. 'call me Meika' Little, a teaching assistant, with chicken wire, paper mâché, paint and a few scraps of spare material that were lying around.  
"Mycroft!" Sherlock shrieked, deliberately making his voice sound as terrified as possible. "Mycroft! Help! Bian the Mysterious is here! Help!"  
Mycroft slammed open the door, stepping into complete darkness. He was looking round, certain that this was the room that Sherlock's terrified voice had cane from. He flicked the light switch and all of a sudden something zoomed towards him. He realised that it was indeed Bian the mysterious only a few seconds before it collided with him. With an almighty crack the figure was obliterated on contact with Mycroft's body. The force of the impact knocked him down.  
"Sherlock!" he yelled, covered with sections of paper mâché and flakes of paint with a chicken wire skeleton next to him.  
Sherlock crawled out from under the bed and fixed Mycroft with a superior stare. "Next time," he said icily, "don't lie to me." 


End file.
